XMen Sprouts: Cougar
by Temporarily-Obsessed
Summary: A girl name Katze is living in a small town in the middle of nowhere with strong emotions and claws popping out from between her knuckles whenever she gets too mad. She goes on a mission to find her father, whom she's never met- with a few surprises...
1. Findin' Out

**X-Men Sprouts: Cougar**

My name is Katze, Katze Silver, at the risk of sounding like Bond, James Bond. My full name is Katze Argentina Silver, but if you call me Argentina or Aggie or Tina or any variation therein, I might just have to kill you. Since I'm a mutant, it wouldn't be that hard.

Okay, so not all mutants are killing machines; I just happen to be violent. Maybe I get it from my dad. I wouldn't know, since I've never met him. My mom raised me. I look nothin', and I mean _nothin'_, like her. She has this pretty, thick and straight corn-silk colored hair to her waist and these gorgeous white-blue eyes. She's got the palest skin you ever saw and it hasn't a mark on it anywhere. She's real short, about 5'2, and the most delicate features. She's like a giant china doll.

I, on the other hand, have this weird brown hair. It sticks up all over the place and it _never _does what I want it to. It's not a weird color, just a slightly dark brown, but sometimes it looks black, like when it's wet. I keep it cropped short, a little shorter than chin-length, because it looks really stupid long. My skin is all tan-ish and I have SO many freckles, it's insane. I'm tall, about 6'1 or so (I keep gettin' taller) and I tower over all the chicks in my grade. I'm taller than most of the boys, too. My eyes are all freaky and this unusual golden color, like a mountain cats or somethin'. My eyebrows are a little thick, but that's okay, it evens out my nose, which is too big, but they shoot up whenever I don't believe someone. I'm not ugly, but I'm close. That's what I think, anyway.

What really separates me from my mom, however, are my claws. They pop out from between my knuckles and it hurts like _hell_. I don't know what they're made of, but it's not natural, I can tell you that. It's hard and it's white and it's damn tough. But I'm pretty tough, myself. I've never broken a bone, though, by all rights, I should have. And what should take a month to heal often just takes a day. Mom says that's what makes me a mutant. I don't care, really; I just wish that, when I get angry, they wouldn't pop out. It hurts and it's scary and it freaks people out. I don't talk to anyone at school, so that keeps me from gettin' mad at people there, and I don't get out much, but I've scared my grandma into a heart attack (that was NOT fun) and my aunt fainted when she first saw them.

Delicate women in the family. How did I end up in this family?

By the way, I've never actually killed someone. Just though I'd mention it.

* * *

Okay, here's the thing about Mom. She looks all fairy-airy and princess-y, but she can be tough if she needs to. She doesn't often, but that's beside the point. She hates shopping and loves baseball and thinks foot ball is fun to watch but stupid to play. She likes her hair long, 'cause, as she puts it, it "makes me feel sexy". She hates my hair short, and wishes I would grow it out. She gets lots of dates. However, she only takes a few home. If she approves of the way they react to me (a.k.a. - no touching in any shape or form except a handshake, no funny looks, nice with a good sense of humor) then she'll take them on another date. We devised this system a long time ago; I think I was four. She says, with a cough, mind, that it used to take a lot less to "take them to her room".

We have a weird relationship, I think, for a mother and a daughter.

She also swore, when I was old enough to understand, that she would not tell me about my father until she felt I was ready.

So, on my sixteenth birthday (very lonely affair; just Mom and me), when she announced it was time to tell about my father dear, I screamed.

Okay, a very girly reaction, I'll admit, but I'd been waiting for this since I knew I had a dad! (Somewhere…)

"Kattie, I think it's time to talk about your dad."

(Insert scream here.)

(Insert pause and raised eyebrow from Mom.)

(Insert silence.)

"Yeah, Mom?" I asked eagerly.

She gave me a Look. "His name was Logan. That was when I worked in a bar, Fat Sam's. We held illegal cage fights, but it was fun to watch. An' one night… this stranger came in. He was tall an' burly an'… good-looking. He had all the girls workin' there bothered, an' a few of the boys, too." Her eyes went all misty on me. "He had this swagger and confidence… I don't know, he was special. He took my heart and didn't even know it. I bribed Sam to let me take bar, but he didn't even head there, at first. He went straight for the cages.

"Now, we'd had a real fierce man in the past few weeks, an' he never lost. His name was Jake. I remember 'cause he'd had a real thing for Rosanne. He had a real ugly face an' a mean look, like a mad bulldog."

"I like bulldogs!" I interjected loudly. She smirked at me.

"Wanna hear it or not?" I nodded furiously. "Well, long story short, he beat Jake real fast. They both came saunterin' over to the bar, and I made sure I didn't have any beer stains or somethin' on my shirt. I noticed real quick that he, Logan, had dogtags. I had a bit of thing for military men back then."

"You still do," I muttered.

"Shut up, Kattie. Anyway, I asked him about 'em, and he said, 'I don't remember.' I thought that was weird, but I kept quiet about it. We got to talkin'. He was real opinionated, but I liked that. Mostly he kept quiet, though. He collected his money an' got a few beers off tap. He got me laughin', and then we visited the back room for my break-" Mom broke off and blushed a little. "Sorry, baby, sometimes I forget you're not Lilly. Anyway, He stayed in town for a couple days, an' then he moved on. I tried to get him to stay, but nothin' doin'. I didn't really expect him to, but I hoped. That was your father."

"That's it?" I asked in disbelief.

"It."

"Bo-ring. Can't you give me more to get off of? I want to find him."

"_No_."

"What?" I asked, shocked. "Why not?"

"He was dangerous, Kattie," she replied tensely. "I don't think it would be wise. I'm not gonna let you go and find him. Wherever he is, he's fine an' we're fine an' we don't need him. I got a job an' you're doin' good enough in school."

"But-"

"No buts, Katze Argentina Silver. You will NOT go looking for your father."

That's what she thought.


	2. Daddy!

**X-Men Sprouts: Cougar**

Just so you know, it's not easy to get someone to let a sixteen-year-old chick with no money and dirty sneakers hitchhike with them. Just a note, y'know.

It's also frustrating. I mean, how else am I supposed to get to Mississippi from Ohio? There's no answer; don't go crazy thinkin' of one.

So I just walked and walked until some sympathetic person picked me up and jabbered my ear off until we were halfway through Kentucky, then I got ditched and I walked some more. Then I fell asleep in an old barn with stinky, moldy hay. When I woke up, I managed to hitch a ride through the rest of Kentucky and partway into Tennessee. From there, I hitched again with a creepy little Wiccan who kept telling me that Wicca was the way for me. I have no problems with Wiccans, but she was weird and slightly disturbing. I tried not to make judgments; I failed, to say the least. Her I was stuck with for only a few hours; then I walked for the rest of the day. I walked the rest of the next day, too- it was tough and wet and cold. Finally, I got ride into Mississippi until I found the town where I'd heard my father had been last. From there, I scattered from city to city, listening to rumors and following them. I ended up going north.

Was I pissed about that? No kidding. I went that far south only to go back up again? Talk about anger-infusing. But I was a good little stranger and kept my claws in.

Slowly, I itched my way up. Then, in West Virginia, I lost the trail. No more rumors, no deaths, no crazy hot guys winning cage fights. Deadpan deadend.

Then I heard about a school for gifted kids, up in Westchester, New York. I heard about the 'X-Men' and how they did stupid things to save other people from stupid _and _crazy mutants, also from Westchester. Or whatever, the two might be related. Point being, there was a guy on the team called 'Wolverine', but a lot of people also heard him called 'Logan'. I decided to check the school out.

* * *

Okay, since when do schools have _pools_?

My senses have been improving more and more, ever since I got my claws, and I could smell the chlorine. Either someone died from huffin' the stuff or there was a pool. I decided to believe it was the pool. Think positive and all that crap. Plus, it was more likely.

The fence and gate were made of iron and covered in ivy, makin' it look pretty awesome, actually. My intuition, however, was tellin' me there was more to this place than it looked. That and a smell of some sort of metal coming from under the ground. I knew it wasn't plumbing.

My senses told me to be on edge, and I knew enough to obey them. They were there for a reason. Instead of taking the walkway and asking them to let me in, which I knew, intuitively, that they wouldn't, so I scaled the fence, touching as little of it as possible. Then I landed on the grass, on my feet, thank you very much, and tiptoed over it, avoiding being seen by the cameras I couldn't see but I knew were there. Then I ended up on the front stoop and grinned at the camera there. I knocked. This all took about thirty seconds, and, believe me, it's a hell of big lawn. Very nice lawn, too, for early-early spring. Although I may have ruined its perfection by sprinting across it.

On my toes, but whatever.

It took a few minutes for someone to answer the door. The guy was almost taller than me, but we were about the same height. He, however, was very buff and I am on the skinny side of sturdy. He was really hairy, too- I could judge, since he was only wearing jeans and a white wifebeater. He had brown hair, stuck up in what looked kinda like bear ears, and it was too long. It needed a cut. In his hand was a beer, the brown glass sweating in his overlarge hand. His squinting brown eyes zeroed in on me.

"Who the hell are you?" he growled at me. I smirked at him.

"Don't you wish you knew," I replied cockily. The walk across the lawn had given me confidence.

"Not really, no," he answered, taking a draw from his beer.

"Then why would you ask?" I responded. I knew I had him. "I'm looking for someone. Is this Xavier's School for the Gifted?"

"Yeah, didn't you read the sign by the gate?" he asked with sarcastic tones.

"No, I didn't take the gate," I replied icily. "How else would I end up here? You have so many security measures, I probably shouldn't have made it across the lawn!"

"You walked across the lawn?" He swore brilliantly. "Damn it, now I have to tell Storm."

"Who's Storm?" I asked brightly. She might know my father!

"Don't you wish you knew," he mimicked. I scowled at him. He scowled back. His scowl was more impressive.

"So, this is the school," I stated. "I'm looking for someone."

"So you mentioned," he replied sarcastically.

"Anyway-"

A lady with white hair and russet skin stepped into view; she looked very Native-American. She was also very pretty. I decided this must be Storm.

"Logan, who's this?" she asked softly, her eyes sharp as she took in my tousled hair, my dirty Convers, and my weeks-unwashed tee and jeans. "Whoa."

"Just tryin' to figure that out," he rumbled, lookin' annoyed.

"She looks _just like _you."

"Katze Silver," I introduced myself, waving. He scowled at me, what's his name- wait. "_Logan_?"

"Yeah, what of it?" he asked casually. He belched. "Did I kill someone you were close to?"

"Noo. You're-"

"A murderer? Heard it before. Not worth mentioning."

"No, you're-"

"An idiot? Don't let it get to you, kid."

"No! You're my FATHER!"

And I thought I had seen awkward silences before…

"What makes you think that?" Logan growled at me.

"My mother, the fact that you've killed people and my mother called you 'dangerous', your name, and according to Storm, I look just like you.

"How did you know my name?" Storm demanded, eyes flashing. I shrugged.

"Intuition, I guess. Plus you smell like rainwater and electricity."

"What do I smell like?" Logan asked, a note of more sarcasm in his voice. I paused and sniffed lightly.

"Cheap cigars, cheap alcohol, and some kind of metal. And pine trees, kinda. You need to stop smoking, even if it is relaxing. You stink."

Storm laughed. "You sound just like him… Logan, this may, in fact, be your child."

"Who's your mother?" Logan barked, anger on his crinkly face.

"Jayne Silver."

"Shit," Logan whistled. "How old are you, 15?"

"16," I replied firmly. "As of about three weeks."

"Well, damn it. You could be my kid. I remember Jayne. She was-"

I coughed. "Dude, that's my mom. Don't really want to hear it." I smirked at him. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"


	3. Needles

**X-Men Sprouts: Cougar**

"A test might beh a good ideah," Marie suggests. "Just so yeh can beh sure."

"A test?" I say skeptically. "Like with needles?"

"Like with needles," the large blue man confirmed. He smiled at me, and winked. I glare at him. Storm laughs. (Does she have a disorder? She keeps laughing at me. Or whatever.)

"Are yeh afraid of needles?" Marie asks gently, a sparkle in her dark eyes. Logan snorted.

"You're afraid of needles?"

"I never said that!" I protest, my cheeks flaring up. I hate it when people make fun of my fears. It's not like I have a ton of them!

"Anythin' else I should know?" Logan asks, chortlin'. "Fear of clowns? Hate of dogs?"

"Secret boyfriens'?" Marie interjects, a smirk dancing across her pale cheeks. Logan frowned.

"She better not. I don't want to have to kill 'em."

"Aw, protective ahready?" Marie laughs. Logan growls.

"No. I don't want 'em tryin' to visit her here."

"And you assume I'm stayin'." Everyone turns to stare at me. "What? You do," I replied defensively.

"Well, yeh came this fah to meet him, we ahssummed yeh would wan'ta steh fah him," Marie says quietly.

"You mean I might still get ridda you?" Logan says, his face lighting up like the sun. I glare at him.

"No promises, dude, I haven't decided. I might decide I like Mom better than you," I snarl, foldin' my arms.

"So there's still hope for me," he snarled in reply.

"Plenty," I snort. Marie snickers. I turn my scowl to her. She raises her hands in surrender.

"Sahrry, yeh're just so alike!" I smirk.

"Do we really need to take a test?" I ask. "I mean, everyone thinks we're so alike!"

Have I mentioned that I don't like bein' laughed at?

* * *

"Well," Hank, the blue dude, announces. "There's good news and bad news."

"Bad news first," Logan and I declare at the same time. Then we give each other the stink eye.

"Well, Logan can definitely reproduce," Hank sighed, and everyone except Logan bursts into bright laughter.

"Har har," Logan replied. "What's the good news?"

"Katze has a reason to stay," Hank answered. He smiled his crinkle-eyed smile at me. I smile back.

I've found my father!

"Ahre yeh gonna stay?" Marie asks me gently, taking my hand. She seems to really like touching people. So far, she's held my shoulder, shook my hand, patted my cheek, and tickled my sides. I wonder why she's so touchy-feely.

She also really seems to enjoy touching Logan. She touches him twice as much as the rest of us. I think she has a crush on him.

"Um… I dunno," I admit. "I mean, I've finally found my dad, something I've wanted since I was old enough to understand- but at the same time, I don't know if I want such an ass for a father-"

"Language," Logan growls at me. Marie smirks again at him.

"Yeh're one teh talk, darlin'," she replies. I smile at her. She's not that bad.

"I think I'll stay, for a while, anyway," I answer.

"You'll have to contact your mother and let her know you're safe," Storm tells me. I groan.

"Do I _have _to?"

"Yeah, does she have to? I don't want Jayne up here… If I remember right, she doesn't know when to shut up…"

"Yeah, and you're so unused to _that_," I say sarcastically.

Bullet dodged.

"Yes, you have to," Storm says sternly.

Or not, I guess.

* * *

"Hi, Mom," I sigh into the phone, then pull it away.

"WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN? I'VE BEEN SO WORRIED! I WANT YOU HOME RIGHT NOW! AND IF YOU'VE BEEN OUT LOOKIN' FOR THAT MAN, I SWEAR TO GOD I WILL KILL YOU SLOWLY AND PAINFULLY, AS OPPOSED TO QUICKLY AND PAINFULLY, WHICH IS WHAT YOU'RE FACING RIGHT NOW!OH, MISSY, YOU ARE IN SO MUCH TROUBLE-"

"MOM!" I shout. "SHUT UP!"

(Insert silence on the other end of the phone, minus the heavy breathing.)

"I'm safe, I'm not coming home, I've found my dad, bye!"

I hang up.

Simple.

Until she calls back.

"DO YOU-"

_Click_.

* * *

Turns out, if you hang up enough on one person, they stop callin' back. Who knew?

Well, me, but that's beside the point.

I told Storm I'd called my mom and she accepted that. I hoped no one had been on another line or somethin'; that would be embarrassing.

Like my life wasn't already.

Then Hank, who apparently could do doctor work, as proven with the tests, decided to check my health.

I really, really, hate needles. Just so you know. I'm not fond of gettin' poked by long, thin silver pokey-thing.

I don't like CAT scans or x-rays, either.

When we were done and Hank was lookin' at the results, I was lookin' at the eye chart and swingin' my legs against the giant table-thing they have you sit on, when Hank calls me over.

"Katze?"

"Yeah?" I answer, hoppin' off the table and walkin' over to him.

"Have you ever had a CAT scan or x-ray before?"

"Um… no."

"Have you ever broken a bone?"

"Nope. Though I probably should have."

"Well, technically, I don't think your skeletal structure in made of bone… it's… nothing I've ever seen before, actually."

"Huh. That's weird."

"It's a bit more than weird, my dear. It's potentially dangerous."


	4. Meetin' People

**X-Men Sprouts: Cougar**

I wake up at three a.m., so I sneak out of the dorm I've been assigned. There's five other chicks in there, but I haven't really gotten to know them. I don't remember their names, even. Two are blondes, sisters, I think, two have black hair (well, one is more brown-black than black, but whatever), and one has red hair.

So, anyway, I sneak out and creak down the hugenormous staircase, to sneak into the kitchen. But there's a kid downstairs, maybe 11 or 12, sittin' on the couch, blinkin' at the TV to get it to change channels.

"Um… don't you have a bed?" I snap. He turns quietly to look at me.

"I don't sleep," he replies simply.

"Don't you need to recharge or somethin', then?"

"Nope," he says, and goes back to blinkin' at the TV.

I roll my eyes at him and go into the kitchen. The lights are already on, 'cause there's a guy, perhaps 18 or 20, eatin' a bowl of cereal.

"What, do you run off of electricity, too?" I snap. He gives me quizzical look.

"Don't act like I'm gonna explain, dude," I reply to his look. He laughs.

"What's so damn funny? Oh, damn, it's you."

"Shut up, Logan. You're just mad that I'm not afraid of you."

"Shut up, kid. No one cares. 'Cept you, maybe."

"Not really, no."

"Whoa," the other guy interrupts, transferring his gaze between us. "You like _just _alike."

"So?" I growl, irritated that he disrupted our banter.

"So, why?"

"Yeah, he's my dad," I say, and the guy bursts out laughing. Logan glares at him, and I scowl. The guy stops laughing.

"What? You're _serious_? You mean he can _reproduce_?"

"Shut up, Frosty. I still haven't forgiven you for breakin' Marie's heart.

"It was a mutual breakup," the guy, Frosty, mutters.

"Yeah, whatever."

"Who're you?" I ask him, for lack of anything else to say.

"Bobby."

"Well, Bobby, I'm Katze." Logan mumbled somethin', glarin' at Bobby. "What was that, father dear? I didn't quite catch that."

"That was the point," he grumbled. "I said, 'and keep your hands off her,'"

"Aw, how sweet," I cooed.

"Yeah, I'd hate to have to tell that to Marie. I'm pretty sure she's not over him."

"Oh, yeah, Cuddle Bunny's totally not in love with _you_," I said sarcastically.

"Yeah, you're right, she's _not_," Logan snarled.

"Wait… Cuddle Bunny?" Bobby queried.

"'Cause she likes touchin' people so much."

"Don't you know?" Bobby asked quietly.

"Know what?"

"Her mutation… she couldn't touch people without hurting or killing them," Bobby says softly, eyes averted. "When she took the Cure, she couldn't get enough of touching people… And then, when we found out that the Cure isn't permanent, she wants to get in human touch as much as she can before it comes back."

"_If _it comes back. It might not," Logan responds angrily. "Caryssa's hasn't."

"Caryssa is trying very hard. I'm sure, with time, it'll come back."

"Caryssa's one of my roommates, right?" I ask, with a burst of memory.

"Yeah, she's the tall blonde with the green eyes," Logan tells me.

"Kenya's blonde and green-eyed, too," Bobby points out.

"Yeah, but she's short."

"Not that short," Bobby argues.

Logan rolls his eyes. "Down, Freezer, I'm not dissin' your girl."

"You know what, Logan? Shut up."

"Yeah, we all wish he would."

"I wish _you _would," Logan mutters.

"Shut up."

"That's the whole point."

* * *

Hank had decided I wasn't in immediate danger and had let me go, but that same night, I'd had issues sleeping, hence the kitchen scene. I never got the chocolate I was craving.

The next morning, though, I received a welcome to challenge the best and worst.

The girls in my dorm were friendly, except the redhead, who was very grouchy and let everyone know it, and other girls were quite rude. Apparently, they saw me as a threat to their crushes. I don't know why; I'm not that good lookin'.

It soon became apparent that half the girls my age, and younger and older, had crushes on Logan. This was a puzzlement to me- I mean, I never looked at him that way. I was too busy pissin' him off to notice his looks, and then I found out he was my father- no checking-out necessary or wanted. He was good-enough lookin', I guess, but he was grumpy and irritable. A lot like me, come to think of it. The grumpy and irritable part, anyway.

The chicks in my dorm are named Caryssa, Kenya, Ginnie, Ruthia, and Iviey. Caryssa is nice, but quiet, and she looks frustrated most of the time. She hangs by Kenya all the time, who is her twin, and very popular. Caryssa has short, dark blonde hair and pale green eyes- they remind me of sea-glass. She's kinda plain-faced, but I'm one to talk. Kenya had beach-blonde hair and emerald eyes. She, on the other hand, is gorgeous. All the boys have crushes on her. Ginnie has black hair, black eyes, milk-white skin, and red lips. She looks like Snow White. Ruthia, apparently, is new. She has pale tan skin, paler than mine but darker than Caryssa's, and blackish-brown hair that she insists on straight-ironing everyday. She tried to convince me to so that to mine. Steam-fry my hair? Thanks, but no way. Her eyes are a really electric blue. She's really short, like Mom. Iviey is rude and short and chubby, with spiky scarlet hair and round cheeks that go pink with anger. It seems she's been around for a year or so.

I don't like Iviey, but I'm fine with the rest. I like Caryssa best, but it could be because she likes my sense of humor. She doesn't look around nervously when I say somethin' snarky about Logan.

That may as well be friendship for me.

* * *

"So, do you like it here?" Storm asked me gently. I sniffed.

"Why do you smell like lilies?"

"I was… visiting someone."

"Someone with really strong perfume?"

"No. Someone I gave flowers."

"Oooh," I laughed. "Storm has a crush…"

"No, I don't," she said simply. I shut my mouth.

"It's fine here, I guess. I wish Logan would just admit I'm his daughter…"

"Storm!" someone calls from inside the mansion. "New kid coming!"

"Oh, I'm sorry, Katze," she apologizes. "I have to go. I'll talk to you later."

I follow her, curious. It's a boy with black hair and hazel eyes- he's kinda cute. Then he turns to look at me.

"Hey, there," he says. My smile shrinks to nothing. "How're you?"

"_Who're_ you, is the question," Logan growls. "That's what I want to know."

"Ashton Olson, sir," he replied smartly, tossin' her hair out of his eyes.

"Well, _Ashton_, we have rules here. Obey them."

"Yes, sir."

"Don't call me sir. It makes me feel old."

"You are old, dude," I laugh. He smirks at me.

"You have no idea."

"Care to share?"

"No."

"Are you two related?" Ashton asks. I roll my eyes.

"No, I'm secretly his prostitute who happens to have the same hair, nose, and eyebrows as him."

"Stupid question, sorry," Ashton says quickly.

"Yeah, stupid kid," Logan grumbles.

"Logan!" Storm says sternly.

I'm rather enjoyin' my new life.


	5. Structure

**X-Men Sprouts: Cougar**

I'm busy doin' my physics homework, which is taught by Storm and is shockingly difficult, by the way, and pumpin' music into my ears via my awesome red 16-gig Nano, when someone comes by snatches my amazing Skullcandy earbuds out with a yank.

"Are ya plannin' on goin' deaf?" Logan barks at me, the red cords danglin' from his huge hand.

"No. Are you plannin' on bein' a quadriplegic?" He growls at me. "Ooh, scary. Gonna chop my head off, old man?"

"Workin' towards it, kid, the way you're goin'."

"Hardly. I'm kinda tough," I laugh. I slide my claws out as quick as I can and wince. Logan smirks at me, and slips his own out. Mine are short and thicker, but he doesn't wince when his come out.

"See these? Coated in solid adamantium. Strongest thing on earth."

"Hank doesn't know what my bones are made of," I admit. "All we know is it's than bone, and smoother, too." My claws look like shimmery versions of his silver spikes: just as smooth, just as sharp. Just not as strong.

* * *

"Some more of your blood tests are done," Hank tells me. "If you'll step into my office, I'll let you know the results."

"Okay," I agree. He sits behind the sleek metal desk, and I collapse into the chair on the other side. "So, what's up, doc?"

"You don't have blood."

"What, I'm a vampire now?"

"No, you have something that resembles blood, and acts as it in your system, but it is not actually blood. It's an entirely new substitute, something with more… white blood cell-like cells and with a stronger resistance to injury, illness, or infection, as far as I can tell. I imagine, if I were to take a skin cell sample. Your skin cells would not have the same components or structure as normal humans, or even any mutant. Your entire structure… It's unlike anything I've ever seen."

"Yeah, I get that a lot."

"Katze, you may be a level 5 mutant," Hank says with concern and excitement in his tone.

"A what?" I ask blankly.

"The highest level of mutation known. Jean, or, rather, Phoenix, was a level five, and it overtook her, in the end causing her death."

"Should I… be afraid?" I ask lightly, trying to make a joke of it, but really fearing the answer. I don't want to die; it's that simple.

"I'm not sure at all, Katze. Your case…" Hank sighs and takes off his glasses, tiny in proportion to his large cerulean face. "…it's the most original thing I've ever seen."

"Yes or no, dude, that's all I'm lookin' for."

"There isn't a yes or no answer, my dear."

"Then what is there?" I snap.

"A mystery," Hank replies sadly, rubbing his eyes.

* * *

"…so, apparently, I could die from my own mutation," I finish, slurping down the last of my milk and soggy Oreo crumbs.

"Really, any of us could, at any time," Bobby replies philosophically, takin' another bite out of his cereal.

"Dude, can't you just let me mope?" I sigh, wiping my mouth messily with my sleeve.

"Well, I could, but mopey people are boring."

"Whatever, man."

We sit in silence for a few minutes, me pouring more milk and grabbin' more Oreos.

"You're in college, right?" At his nod, I continue. "What's your major?"

"Teaching. Specifically, history," he replies, crunching.

"Where're ya wanna teach?" I query. Bobby gives me a Look. "Oh, here?"

"Yeah."

"Are you on the X-Team?"

"Ho-how do you know tha-that?" he chokes, clearly shocked.

"Dude. I have _ears_."

"I didn't notice," he replies sarcastically, swallowing.

"I did. I do try to use 'em."

"I thought I told you to keep away from her," comes a growly voice from the doorway. Bobby jumps; I don't. Much.

"No, you told him to keep his hands off me. There's a difference," I reply smartly. Bobby stifles a chuckle, badly.

"Shut up, Icebrain."

"Didn't we go through this last night?" I ask casually. "'Cause I'm not interested in a re-run."

Both roll their eyes at me, which makes me laugh loudly.

"What's so funny?" Logan growls, glarin' at me.

"You two rolled your eyes in synchronation."

"What's funny about that?" Bobby asks me, sounding slightly annoyed.

"'Cause Logan acts like he hates you, and you pretend to be afraid of him," I chuckle. "Yet you roll your eyes together."

"_Act_?"

"_Pretend_?"

This only succeeds in making me laugh more.

* * *

I'm sittin' in the memorial garden, starin' at the two almost-graves and thinkin', when the new kid comes up and sits next to me. I give him a glare. He ignores it.

"So, I never caught your name."

"So, you're never goin' to."

He leans towards me. I lean backwards, still glarin'. "I like it when girls play with me."

"I like it when guys take a hint."

"I like girls with spit 'n vinegar."

"I like guys with brains."

"Well, then, this is your lucky day."

"Here I was thinkin' it was my _un_lucky day. Or at least, I wasn't until you showed up."

"Wow, lots of spunk. Definitely interested."

"Definitely NOT interested. Dude, get a clue: _back off_."

"I don't think I want to," he whispers, and leans forward more. I can't lean any further back; I'm in trouble. And I'm startin' to get pissed.

"I think," I whisper softly, knowing my eyes have their dangerous look in them, "that you will get hurt if you get any closer."

"What? Of course I won't." Ashton tests his luck and leans forward another inch. He's now about a centimeter away from my nose.

"Yeah, dumbshit, you will." My claws slide out silently.

The idiot dots his lips to my nose.

"Oh gawd! Ow, you-!"

"Yeah, you don't wanna piss me off," I hiss as he clutches the three scratches on his arm. "'Cause my claws are bigger than yours."


	6. Servin' Detention

**X-Men Sprouts: Cougar**

"Logan, Katze, the reason I called you down here is to discuss Katze's punishment," Storm explains, sittin' down neatly. Logan turns to give me a Look.

"What'd you do?" he says, givin' me the stink eye.

"Scratched a guy," I shrug, very cavalier. I've noticed that it helps, sometimes.

"_Cut_," Storm corrected. "Hank says there might be scars."

"He deserved it," I mutter.

"That is yet to be determined. He claims you two were talking and suddenly, you pulled out your claws and attempted to cut his arm off."

"What?!" I screech. "That is _such_ a lie!"

"Katze, we have proof that you cut him. Violence is not tolerated here."

"Do you tolerate molestation?" I hiss, crossing my arms and seething.

"WHAT?" Logan bellows.

"Whatever makes you ask that?" Storm gasps.

"'Cause he kissed me!" Logan makes a noise that I can't discern. Storm frowns.

"And?"

"And I specifically and notably, not to mention threateningly, told him to back off!"

"Damn kid's lucky _I_ wasn't there," Logan mutters. "I'd've chopped his damn head off."

We both stare at him for a moment, then Storm turns back to me.

"He will be warned not to do that again." I snort. Storm continues, unperturbed. "However, injuring another student? Not acceptable."

"With a father like mine, can you blame me?" I say, making Logan glare at me instead of the ceiling. I scowl at him. This is his fault, after all. Storm inclines her head, acknowledging this, but goes on.

"You'll have to serve detention for a week. Every night at five until next Tuesday, you will come here."

"What?! I was provoked!"

"Storm!" Logan growls. "The gawddamn kid _kissed_ MY daughter, and she warned him! How is that fair?!"

"Easily," Storm replies. "She injured fellow peer using her mutation. She has to learn that this is not going to solve her problems."

"It solves mine," Logan snarls.

"You tend to go to violence. Logan, we will discuss this later, _privately_. Now is not the time."

"Go ahead," I say, quite enjoyin' watchin' Logan get chewed out. "I don't mind in the least."

Both give me an identical Look. "Right, then. I'll go," I mutter. "See ya at five, Stormy."

"Oh, I'm not doing your detentions," Storm smirks. She points at Logan. "He is."

"WHAT?!" we holler together.

* * *

"So, what are we doin' today?"

"Waitin'," Logan replies grumpily, slouchin' in his chair.

"For?"

"Another kid doin' detention."

"What this kid in for?"

"Dunno. Don't even know who it is. Storm wouldn't tell me."

"It couldn't be Ashbrain, now could it?" I say sarcastically. Logan's eyes snap open.

"She wouldn't," he growls.

"She might," I disagree.

"She who?"

Logan jumps up with a snarl and grabs the cuff of Ashton's smarmy blue button-up. "You will stay away from my kid, got that? If you ever touch her again, you won't have hands. Get it?"

"Got it," he gasps. Logan lets him go, and Ashton massages the back of his neck.

"Um, what are we doing?" he asks tentatively.

"Lines," Logan grunts.

"_Lines_?" I say in disbelief. Ashton sighs and sinks into a chair.

"Paper, pencil. Katze, you will write 'I will not injure other people'. Boy, you'll write 'I will not molest other people'. Hundred times each. Go."

I groaned but got to it.

* * *

"So you have detention now?" Bobby laughs as I stalk into the kitchen.

"Shut up, dude."

"What's with that?" he say, amused at my irritation.

"I gave a dude a slice on his arm to remember," I reply, opening the fridge. "Well, three, actually. Are we out of chocolate milk?"

"Yeah. Why did you cut him up?"

"He kissed me," I sigh. "That's sucks. Well, I'll just use normal milk, then…"

"Um… why?"

"I don't know, he's a freak."

"According to half the girls, a really cute freak," Bobby comments.

"Cute or not, he's annoying and clueless. I don't like him. How would you know this, anyway?"

"I have a slight eavesdropping problem. It's genetic. I got it from my mom."

"Apparently violence is hereditary, too," I laugh, pourin' out my boring, plain milk. "I got mine from-"

"Logan," we say together, and then laugh.

It's good to have a friend.

* * *

"Caryssa…" I ask tentatively, hesitantly.

"Hmm?" she murmurs, sticking the eraser end of her pencil in her mouth, frowning down at her Calculus.

"What was your mutation?"

(Insert silence.)

"I could… make inanimate objects come to life, briefly," she murmurs, eyes downcast. "I was only level two. I weakened me horribly to animate anything."

"Were you ever afraid of it?" I query.

"No… Yes, I was. I was afraid I wouldn't be able to do it someday, or that someone would use me and my mutation for their own nefarious reasons." She lends me a bitter, thin smile. "Turns out, those fears were founded."

"What happened to you?" I'm almost afraid of the answer.

"Did you hear about the Brotherhood three years ago?" Hesitantly, I nod. "Well, I joined it."

I drop my pen.

"I know, I know. I was thirteen and stupid. I blamed Professor Xavier for my father dying, and I wanted to get back at him. I felt that that was the way… I was wrong." Caryssa takes a deep breath, and finger-combs her dark blonde hair from her tan face. "I was a pawn to them, and I was shot with the Cure… It didn't cure anything for me. It only caused more problems. I had post traumatic stress for about a year, and it took a lot of help from, believe it or not, Iviey, before I was healed enough to even do anything."

"Iviey?" I ask, shocked.

"Yeah. Her mom's a psychiatrist, and she's learned a lot from her. Iviey wants to be one herself. Iviey is a lot more than she seems; Iviey is really a tender soul. She hides it behind sarcasm and rude remarks, but it's only because she was assaulted a couple years ago. A man was… well, it made her power surface, and she was completely traumatized by the whole experience. She killed him. She never can forget him."

"Wow," I whisper. Caryssa nods.

Damn it. Now I can't just hate Iviey in peace.


	7. Break a Leg

**X-Men Sprouts: Cougar**

"So much homework," I moan to Caryssa as we enter our dorm. "Only a genius could do all this!"

"Well, that's what we're supposed to be," she replies practically, tossing her books on her bed. "What first? Calculus, Physics, or that essay for English?"

"You forgot our PE homework, practicing punches," I add. Caryssa nods wearily.

"What first?"

"The elective. Tree-climbing." I tug on her hand, draggin' her to the door.

"We don't have _time_," she whines at me.

"So? We're teenagers. Let's act like it. Be irresponsible," I laugh. "When was the last time you did something just for the fun of it?"

"Years," Caryssa concedes, and follows me outside to the huge oak. "Y'know, I heard Professor Monroe telling Professor Worthington that they might chop down this tree, 'cause it's getting old. Maybe we should climb a different one…"

"Oh, don't be such an adult. Do something reckless!"

"…I don't know, Kat. It seems kinda stupid."

"I'm kinda stupid; it all works out." She laughs with me, and we begin climbing the tree. When we were as far up as we could go, we start talkin' again.

"What was your X-Man name?" I ask. Caryssa gives me a confused look.

"I was never an X-Man."

"I know, but everyone I've talked to here has one, just in case."

"Moth," she whispers. "You?"

"I was thinkin'… Cougar. 'Cause, y'know, my eyes and my claws and my senses. Plus it's the symbol for leadership, and I've always wanted to lead everyone around. I've always been bossy."

"Makes sense," Caryssa laughs.

"Yeah, that's what I was thinkin'. What's Kenya's?" I ask, since I know Caryssa knows everythin' about her twin. As I suspected, Caryssa's pale eyes light up and she responds cheerfully.

"Spider. I used to call her that, when we were little."

"What about Iviey?" I ask, actually very interested in the answer. "What's her mutation, anyway?"

"Her gift is… kinda violent." I wait. "She has premonitions, of sorts, but only a certain kind, and she can share them. She can see how a person will die, and she can show them. But only that person."

"Wow."

"I know. She's terrified of it. Before coming here, she used to show _everyone_ she met their death, without meaning to. She learned to control from here."

"That's good. I don't wanna know how I die."

"Most people don't, really," Caryssa replies.

"What's her mutant name?" I question again. Caryssa smiles apologetically.

"Sorry, I forgot. It's Screech Owl. In mythology, the owl is the messenger of death."

"How apropos."

"Yeah, Ginnie was the one to suggest it. Ginnie's absolutely obsessed with all kinds of legends and myths," Caryssa says with a slight smile.

"Good to know. Now all we need is a mythology class so we can all cheat off of her," I chuckle.

"Don't knock Ginnie's obsession! It's very entertaining on Story Sunday."

"Story Sunday?" I cock an eyebrow.

"The third Sunday of every month, everyone tells stories within their dorm."

"I'll keep that in mind…"

We sit on our respective limbs for a few minutes. Then…

"Oh, crap, I dropped my necklace!" Caryssa says in a panicky voice.

"Um."

"Sam gave it to me."

"And Sam is…?"

"Dead."

"Oh."

"I'll be back," Caryssa says shortly, climbing down the tree. She's searching the ground for her necklace when I hear a loud cracking.

_Uh-oh._

With a phenomenal crash, the tree falls. With me in it. Several thick branches land firmly on my right leg. I can feel it snap cleanly. Before passing out, I see a river of vomit make its way from my mouth.

* * *

"Aaand, here she comes."

"Wha?" I mumbled, trying to open my eyes. It feels like someone placed an anvil on them. Finally, they open. I feel triumphant until I look around at the faces around me: Hank, Logan, Caryssa, and Angel, or, as everyone else seems to call him, Professor Worthington. Caryssa is all scratched up and looks horribly upset; Hank looks concerned; Angel looks worried; Logan looks pissed.

"Um… I'm sorry?"

"Sorry? You're sorry for breaking your leg?" Hank asks, confusion knitting his brow.

"No, I'm sorry for climbing that tree."

"And?"

"Well, Caryssa warned me about it bein' old and all that…"

"And you climbed it anyway?!" Logan snaps at me, face goin' red.

"Don't burn anyone with that fury, dude," I warn him. He scowls at me.

"This is not a time for jokes, kid. You could've died. Then I'd have to deal with your momma _and _pay for your funeral."

"And this bothers you… why?"

"I'm not exactly rich, that's why!"

"No, I meant dealin' with Mom."

"Most women don't like dealin' with me the second time around," he says gruffly.

"Well, I'm pretty sure she's still in love with you, so it's all good," I reply. "When can I get out of here?"

"When I say so," Logan growls.

"Well, technically, you could leave anytime after I give you your crutches," Hank corrects.

"Crutches?"

"You broke your leg in two places," he explains. "Neat breaks, so they'll heal faster, but breaks nonetheless. They'll be all healed up in about six weeks."

"Six weeks?" I moan.

"Don't whine, kid," Logan reprimanded.

"I don't whine, I _bitch_."

"Language," Angel warns.

"Whatever. Do I still have to serve detention?"

"Yeah, you do," Logan replies firmly.

"Dang it." I'm about to say more, but I feel my stomach rebel against me, and I projectile vomit all over Logan and Caryssa before blacking out again.

Fantastic.


	8. Mysteries of Life

**X-Men Sprouts: Cougar**

When I wake up, I'm alone except for Hank, who's reading in a chair across the room. After a few seconds, he looks up and sees that I'm awake.

"Ah, you're up," he says calmly, gettin' up.

"I feel like crap," I croak.

"What's hurting?" he asks gently, helping me sit up.

"My throat's on fire, my stomach aches, and my head's poundin'. My fingers and toes are all tingly-numb, and I can't feel my leg- the broken one."

"That's the drugs, dear. It seems, from your other symptoms, you've caught a virus. I'll get you some Airborne and water. You'll want to-"

"Drink lots of fluids," I finish dully. "My Aunt Lilly's a nurse."

"Well, fruit wouldn't be a bad idea, either."

"Won't I just puke it up?"

"It's very likely, but I don't want to feed you intravenously unless I absolutely have to."

"Alright," I sigh. "Can I get up and walk ar-" Before I can finish, I feel a swell of vomit climbing up my fiery throat. Gasping, I puke into the silver basin by my bed. "Ow."

"Yep, definitely a virus," Hank sighs. "Here's an orange."  
"Cam I eat it later?" I gasp. "I don't think it'll help right now."

"Certainly. I understand."

"Thanks," I whisper. "Could I have some water?"

"Sure, sweetheart."

A few minutes later, when Logan comes in, I am cradlin' a glass of water and clutchin' a bowl with my other hand. He sits down in the chair beside my bed.

"How you feelin'?" he asks kindly. Shocked, I drop my mouth open. What a sight I must make: spiky behead hair haloing my face, pale and green skin, and an expression of surprise.

"Um. Terrible," I manage. "Like I got run over. I keep pukin'. Shouldn't my healin' be on this?"

"I dunno, kid; mine just keeps me from getting' sick," he replies.

"Dang it. Why couldn't I be like that?" I mumbled and sip on my water.

"Like I said, I dunno."

"Then what use are you?" I joke. He laughs.

"Let me know when you find out," he rumbles.

"Gotcha."

(Insert comfortable silence.)

"Ready to eat that orange, dear?" Hank calls, walkin' back in. "Oh, hello, Logan."

"Yeah, sure," I comply, takin' the brightly colored sphere. I begin peelin' it; that was always my favorite part of eatin' oranges. While I pop slices in my mouth, Hank and Logan chat.

"All done," I finally pronounce. "Sorry about pukin' on you earlier."

"I'll live," he assured me gruffly.

"Good. Heard anything from Caryssa?"

"Apparently, she spent hours in the shower," he informed me gleefully.

"I would, too, after getting' hurled on," I grunt, rearranging myself.

"Here, darlin'," Logan offers, and helps.

Why's he bein' so nice? I hope it's not pity. I hate bein' pitied. Well, here goes nothin'.

"Why are ya bein' so nice to me?" I ask bluntly. "I mean, thanks and all, but why?"

"What are you talkin' about?" He gives me a grin. "I'm just bein' my charmin' self."

"Charmin' self, my ass," I mumbled. He cuffs me.

"Language."

_That's _better.

* * *

"Hey, Caryssa," I call. "Sorry about earlier."

"S'all right," she waves off. "Kenya used to get sick on me all the time."

"Why?"

"I would keep her company when she got sick, and she had a real talent for _not _aiming at the bucket."

I laugh with her.

"That musta been fun," I chuckle. Caryssa rolls her eyes and sits on the foot of the bed.

"How ya doing?"

"Miserable."

"Glad to hear it," she answers sarcastically. "What's wrong?"

"My throat, head, and leg ache and my toes and fingers are all pins-and-needles."

"Sounds fun. Any more regurgitation?"

"'Bout once every two hours," I sigh. "Can't keep anything down."

"That's too bad," she sympathizes. "Want me to ask Hank about something for your leg?"

"No thanks, I'll live."

"Don't be such a stoic," she reprimands. "You can live with a deadened leg for a bit."

"Fine, I be a good mutant and numb up my leg."

"Good girl," she coos, as if to a dog.

"Shut up. Hank!" I holler, and wince.

"Yes, dear?"

"Can you drug up my leg? It's hurtin'."

"You can have some Loratab," he replies. "5/500, I should think."

"Hank. I don't speak doctor."

"I know. Just talking to myself," he says with a smile.

"Oh. Sorry."

"It's quite all right, dear." He hands me a pill. Oh, crap. "Bottoms up."

"Um, I have issues swallowin' pills. I have to chew 'em."

"Well, alright, dear- but I'll warn you, Loratab is nasty."

"Crud. Oh, well."

Hank hands me the pills and I crunch on them. They taste _horrific_. I gulp down water to chug the dust down from my dry mouth.

"Eeew," I moan. "That was a miserable experience! Don't make me go through that again!"

"I'm sorry," Hank apologized. "If there was any other way, I'd do it for you."

"Iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiick…" I groan in response.

Caryssa is laughing but my mouth hurts and my foot hurts and I have a headache and I can feel my anger mountin' and mountin'… and crest. I brace myself for more pain…

It doesn't come. I look down at my hands; they're normal.

"Hank," I whisper. "Is there anything that might make my mutation die?"


	9. Loss

**X-Men Sprouts: Cougar**

"I… don't understand," I stammer, clutching my leg (the unbroken one). "Everything's the same?"

"Everything," Hank replies bleakly.

"Then why aren't I healing? Why can't I get my claws to come out? What the hell is wrong with me?"

"It's like…" Hank sighs and sits down. "It's like everything with the active mutant gene had been registered dormant… you can't heal, and your claws won't move because your knuckles refuse to separate enough to let them through. However, I'm more worried about the former. It means you can't heal."

"Yeah, big deal, most people can't," I reply bitterly.

"No, it's worse than that. Normal people can _heal_, they just can't do it at the speed Logan can and you could. You can't heal. At all, I'm afraid."

"Wait, what?"

"You're…" Hank swallows; I see his Adam's apple bob. "You're dying, Katze."

I vaguely register a wailing sound and a strange pain in my chest and throat before I see the black creep into the edges of my vision, and, finally, take my sight and hearing away in a roaring tidal wave.

* * *

I feel light and floaty, drifting lazily in the black. Distantly, I can hear people talking.

"…didn't think she'd react like that…"

"…wake up?..."

"….what's wrong with her?..."

Suddenly, with violence, I feel somethin' rush up my throat like poison. Gasping, I snap my eyes open and retch into the steel bowl. The voices pause.

"Katze?"

"What?" I croak, flopping on my side, away from the faces worrying down at me. "Any more bad news? Am I dying slowly? Painfully? God, what am I supposed to do…?"

"It will be gradual, but relatively fast," Hank replies quietly. "Two months, perhaps three. You will lose the use of your organs, on by one, and I expect a few seizures. You may become a vegetable before you die."

"Oh," I say softly. I begin cry, but silently. "I want to sleep. Can you… Can I be alone?"

"Yes, dear, go ahead," Hanks leads Caryssa and Storm out. "Sleep tight."

As soon as they are gone, I can cry like I've never cried before. 'Cause I hurt. 'Cause I want to.

'Cause I'm dyin'.

I'm only 16, for God's sake! What did I do to deserve this? I think about all the things I've done.

Well. At least that parts' not a mystery.

But what's the starting factor? What caused this chain of events? Where did iy start?

_When I broke my leg._

Hank said my bone material was "potentially dangerous". Could this be the danger?

"Hank!" I cry, wiping my tears furiously. "C'mere!"

I see the blue giant fly out of the room and rush over to me. "Yes, Katze?"

"Could breakin' my leg start this?" I query excitedly. Hanks' eyes light up.

"It could!"

"That's good, right? That we know, I mena."

"Depends. But it's definitely a start!"

"Great I say brightly, and then I puke again.

* * *

"Are the tests back?" I ask anxiously, rubbing my leg where it meets the cast.

"Some. We found traces of something resembling bone marrow in your bloodstream. I think, based on this, that your early blood cells are attacking your system and acting as poison."

"Can we do anythin' about it?" I ask, hopin'. Hank shakes his massive head.

"No, but this means you may not die! We could inject something that would kill those cells and leave you healthy!"

"What would you use?" Hank droops.

"That's just it. I'm not sure."

"So… I might still die?"

"It's very, very likely. Would you like to contact your mother?"

I hesitate, then shake my head. "I think… I think I want her to think of me as bein' somewhere, alive and healthy and happy." Hanks nods.

"Yes, dear. I'll talk to Ororo."

Hope: It's a funny thing. It makes you see the future through brighter eyes. Huh. Whoda thunk?

* * *

"My suspicions were confirmed, Katze," Hank informs me. "We're going to try some tests, okay? To see what might kill those cells. I need more blood."

"Okay," I sigh, and I close my eyes as the needle looms closer.

"That's enough, I think. We need time, Katze."

"But how much is enough?" I whisper once he is gone.

If only we knew.

* * *

Nothin' was workin'. I was getting' sicker. I puked daily now; I was gettin' awful skinny. Everyone, except Iviey, came down to visit me, but it didn't help.

Hank couldn't find anythin' to kill my poison-cells.

My hope was entirely lost. I became a zombie for a while… weeks, almost months. It was like a sleep, one of those dreams you can't wake up from.

One day, Hank told me I had lost function of one of my kidneys. Soon after, my other started failin' on me. I took it all stoically.

I would not cry, not now. I was not human. I was not Katze Argentina Silver anymore.

I was Patient Dying.

Patient Dying had no emotions.

Patient Dying was not a person.

Patient Dying was… dying.

What more can be said?

I was not wakin' up.


	10. Life

**X-Men Sprouts: Cougar**

Life is a lot of things. It's wakin' up with sunlight on your face. It's laughin' at a bad joke. It's punchin' someone who deserves it. It's coughin' and hearin' someone ask if you're okay. It's cryin' at a sad movie. It's screamin' at a basketball game.

I'm not livin'. I'm dyin'.

Dyin' isn't many things; what it is, is depressin'. It's feelin' cold hands on your spine when there's nothin' there. It's clenchin your teeth from pain in your gut. It's starin' blankly at a wall for hours, just so you have somethin' to do. It's not cryin', 'cause that would make it real.

I'm not livin'. I'm dyin'.

I used to wake up with sunlight on my face. I used to laugh at bad jokes. I used to punch people, whether they deserved it or not. I used to cough, and people would ask if I was okay. I used to cry at sad movies. I used to scream at basketball games.

I'm not livin'. I'm dyin'.

Now I feel cold hands on my spine when there's nothin' there. I clench my teeth from pain in my gut. I stare blankly at walls, for hours, just for somethin' to do. I do not cry, 'cause that would make it real.

I'm not livin'.

I'm dyin'.

* * *

I'm not sure what wakes me up. But wake I do.

It's like shakin' off a last of a heavy dose of cold medicine; my eyes blink and blink, and then I feel my head clear, bit by bit. It's like thinkin' from a dream. It's also very frightening.

I remember everything. It's not like I forgot I'm dyin'. I know I am. But… I haven't felt alive in a month and three weeks. And two days, but that's beside the point.

I feel the cold steel of my bedframe; I hear the soft sigh of the heaters. I smell bleach. I see a tuft of hear in my eyes. It's irritating', so I push it away, It pops back anyway.

"Does anyone have scissors?" I call loudly. Hank steps out of his office, lookin' shocked.

"Katze! You look so…" He pauses. "Healthy."

"That's good, I guess. Do you have any scissors?"

"Whatever for?"

"A piece of hair is buggin' me."

"…and?"

"And I want it gone," I reply flatly.

"What's up?" Caryssa asks, entering the room. Her eyes hit me, "Kat! You're being… sociable!"

"No, I'm never sociable," I snap. Caryssa grins at me.

"Yeah, but you're acting like _you_ again!" she cries, huggin' me. "You acted like a zombie for a long time!"

"Shut up," I grumble, shoving her away and whackin' her arm. "And don't hug me!"

* * *

"Hank, my cast is fallin' apart," I whine. "And my leg itches somethin' awful!"

"Do you want a new cast?" Hank asks me.

"Can we check it first?" I ask, cocking me head. My hair bounces. Ew.

"For?"

"To see if I still have as many poison cells."

"Of course, dear."

* * *

Hank walks back in, frownin'.

"What?" I ask, my heart beatin' faster.

"These tests," he mutters. "It seems your early blood cells are… back where they should be."

"That's good! Isn't it?"

"Yes, very much so. But…?"

"But?"

"I don't understand."

"Can you try to later? I'd really like my cast off."

"Alright, dear."

Once the blasted thing is off, before Hank can stop me, I leap onto my feet. I fall, but only from lack of balance. My leg feels so light… _and it doesn't seem to be broken anymore_.

Hank is, of course, horrified but delighted at this turn of events.

Now I need to build up leg muscle.

* * *

"Did you hear?" Caryssa says excitedly to Hank. "Mary's coming back!"

"Marigold finished college early?" Hank asks, surprise on his face.

"Yeah, but we all knew she was a genius. She's gonna teach Health for us!"

"Wasn't she going to be a doctor?" Hank asks, feeling my leg for breaks, just in case.

"Nurse," Kenya corrected, bouncing. Ginnie squealed happily.

"Who the fudgebutton is Mary?" I interject.

"Fudgebutton?" Caryssa asks, cocking an eyebrow.

"Fudgebutton," I say firmly. "Well?"

"She's a graduate of this school," Kenya sings. "She's a mimic; I can change my appearance, she can change her voice. She's the Mockingbird! Is she gonna join the X-Men, Hank?"

Hank gives her a stern look. "I have no idea what you are talking about, Kenya Rosabel Jameson."

"Yeah, yeah, Hank, whatever you say."

"Why's Mary comin' back here?" I ask.

"Mary calls this her home," Caryssa explains.

"And she wants to be the nurse here, and teach Health, and First-Aid, and Emergency Treatment," Ginnie adds.

"And we need to know this… why?" I ask, flinching as Hank presses into a tender spot.

"The X-Men, of course," Ginnie replies, smiling innocently. Hank presses his blue lips in a straight lone. "Oh, quit fussing, Hank. Everyone knows."

I laugh at Hank's expression. "So, does everyone who graduates join?"

"Heavens, no," Ginnie says. "Some go on to do normal-people things. Some go do hero stuff in other places. Only a few join the X-Men, and only people who live at the school."

"Who all's on the team?" I ask conversationally.

"Well, Storm basically leads it. Bobby and Kitty. Logan, obviously. And now, maybe Mary."

"Marigold is wiser than Logan," Hank says tartly.

"Hank doesn't like violence," Kenya giggles. "It's okay, Hank, we understand."

I roll my eyes.

It's an improvement.


	11. Um?

**X-Men Sprouts: Cougar**

"I'm ho-ome!" a really short blonde chick shrieks, flinging open the doors to the front of the mansion. She's like, 5'0, and her hair is a real pale blonde. Her eyes are a light, pretty teal, and she's really pale. Very Norwegian-looking.

"Mary!!!!" cries Kenya and Ginnie; they run full-out to her. Huh. So this is the infamous Mary.

"Kenya! Ginnie! Oh my God, how are you guys? I've missed you so much!" The three begin talking and giggling. They walk up the stairs, sharing the heavy load of suitcases. Does a girl really need that much crap?

Apparently.

* * *

"Okay, I'll be giving you physical therapy," Mary informs me cheerfully, tossing her blonde braids behind her back.

"Joy," I grumble.

"It is," she informs me. "If I wasn't doing this, Hank would. Talk about awkward."

I groan in reply.

"Okay, first we have to stretch… reach for your toes… Oh! I can reach farther… and… oof! Ha!"

She's touchin' the ground about six inches from her foot. I'm still standin', waitin' for her to notice.

"Well, come on! Join me!" she tells me, straightening.

Hell. Sheer hell.

* * *

"Oww," I moan. "That Mary is a real _bitch_."

"Don't say that about Mary!" Kenya responds, shocked.

"I am in PAIN," I growl. "My legs are on FIRE. Don't tell me what I can't call the demon of physical therapy."

"Well, Mary can come off as a bitch, it's true," Caryssa admits, swingin' her chair around. "However, once you get to know her, she's a real sweetheart. Well, more or less."

"I think I'll go with less," I sigh, collapsin' on my bed. "Oww."

"Quit whining. Wait until you have to go to Protection Enlightenment tomorrow," Iviey snickers. "_Then _you'll know pain."

My only reply is a moan.

* * *

"I hate you, Logan," I groan as I hobble to the lockers. "I really, really hate you. More than I hate Mary."

"What's wrong with Mary?" he asks casually.

"She makes my leg hurt with her exercises," I reply curtly, and then I go into the locker room, leaving his booming laugh behind me.

Someone is blastin' their iPod, playin' 'Take A Bow' by Rihanna. I really like this song, actually. I start singin' along.

Kenya is starin' at me with bug eyes. "What?" I say self-consciously.

"You know _Rihanna_?" she squeaks.

"Yeah, so?"

"You just seem more like a… Paramore person."

"I like them both," I reply, unperturbed. "Is this allowed?"

"I them both, too," Iviey replies. "I also like Death Cab for Cutie, especially 'I'll Follow You Into the Dark'."

"Who doesn't?" Caryssa says dryly, buttoning her jeans. That reminds me…

"Tomorrow it's gonna be warm enough to wear shorts," I reply gleefully.

"We wear shorts in Protection Enlightenment," Iviey replies, givin' me an odd look.

"It's P.E., Iviey," Kenya and Ginnie chorus.

"I mean real shorts," I reply. "I love shorts. I hate wearin' long pants. My legs like to _breathe_."

"You sound like an idiot," Caryssa laughs, pokin' me in the ribs.

"Yeah, well, if only I sounded like an idiot with a mutation," I reply gloomily, rearrangin' my hair. It's stickin' up all over the place again; it's gettin' too long. "Anyone know how to cut hair?"

"I do," Iviey says quietly.

"You're quite the entrepreneur," I say in surprise. "Psychology, hair, and, from what I could tell today, fighter."

"I want to be able to protect myself, so if anything happened to me ag- I mean, just in case."

"Right," I say, not sure why I don't want her to know that I know she was raped. Caryssa raises an eyebrow at me. I cross my eyes at her.

"Could you cut my hair tonight? Just somethin' real short," I ask Iviey. She smiles softly.

"Maybe," she says, circlin' me. "I could have fun with your hair…"

"Uh-oh," Caryssa laughs. Iviey frowns jokingly at her.

"Oh, shush. You're a mess with scissors, missy. Don't interrupt a master at her imagination."

"That's what she said," I mutter. Laughs erupt around me.


	12. I Hate Surprises

**X-Men Sprouts: Cougar**

"Don't touch it!" Iviey snaps, smacking my knuckles with the scissors.

"Ow," I mumble, snatching my hand away. "That hurt!"

"It's supposed to," she replies tartly. "Let me do my work, and then you can touch your hair all you like."

I stifle a giggle. I doubt Iviey would find my thoughts funny.

A few more minutes and infinite 'snips', and then she pronounces my hair "finished!"

Iviey pulls her spiky orange-scarlet shag out of its ponytail, admiring her work. I feel my new cut, the brush of my hand releasing a thin shower of hairs. Well, it's certainly short.

"Here," Iviey offers a mirror. I take it and look at myself. I look… mature.

My dark brown, coarse, curly-wavy-stick-up-all-over-the-place, thick hair hovers in a bracken-bush bob around the nape of my neck, all around, with my straggling bangs wisping into my gold eyes.

"Huh," I grunt. "It looks good. Thanks, Iviey."

"You're welcome," she replies, gratified.

_BANG. BANG. BANG. _"Are we allowed in yet?!" Kenya screeches. "I'm standing here nothing but two towels! What if Bobby comes by?!"

"I'm sure he'll be a very boyfriend," Caryssa replies. "Come one, can we come in yet? I just want my Physics homework!"

"I just want my book!" Ruthia whines.

"And I want my art pad!" Ginnie complains. "Come _on_!"

I swing the door open. Ginnie, who was leanin' against it, tumbles in, followed by Kenya trips over her. Caryssa leans against Ruthia, who is desperately clinging to her dignity and the doorframe. Caryssa, on the other hand, is doubled over in giggles. Ginnie and Kenya glare at her, peelin' themselves off the floor.

"Shut up, o twin of mine," Kenya snarls, headin' to closet.

"I… didn't say… a… word," Caryssa wheezes, clutching her sides.

"Nice haircut," Ruthia manages before she joins her blonde friend in laughter.

* * *

"Logan?" I tap tentatively on his door. "Logan?" I begin to pound. The door sweeps open.

"What?" he growls. "Is there a _reason_ you woke me up at this godforsaken hour?"

"Yes." I swallow. "Canyouteachmehowtofight? I mean, since I don't have a mutation anymore…"

I give him my most pleadin' look. He glares at me and crosses.

"Fine," he snaps. "5 o'clock tomorrow mornin' in the gym. Don't up, you lost your chance. Period."

He slams the door in my face.

Victory dance!

* * *

I yawn, and step into the freezin' steel-lined room. "Ever heard of a space-heater?" I call, lookin' for my father. He strides out of the men's locker room, dryin' his hair with a strictly white towel.

"Yeah, but what's the point? If you work hard enough, it won't be cold anymore."

"Cruel, cruel man," I mutter. I bounce on my toes lightly. Logan stares at my feet. "What?"

"Ever heard of _shoes_?" he says in tones of disgust.

"Yeah, but what's the point?" I reply, smirkin'. "I don't like shoes."

"Kid, you need to shut up and stretch."

Fifteen minutes later, I'm standin' in front of Logan, waitin' for him to tell me to do somethin'.

"Okay, kid. Attack me."

"_What_?" I screech. "That's not teachin'!"

"First I have to figure out what you can do. Attack me."

As the last syllable leaves his tart tongue, I propel my feet off the icy ground and jump for his neck. He ducks, punches me in the gut, and I fly over his dipped shoulder, winded.

Okay, if that's how he wants to play… I sweep my leg under him, to trip him, but he jumps and lands in a crouch. I flash my fist at his cheek, but Logan catches my hand and twists it, making my arm go _crack_. I turn to avoid breakin' another bone. He pulls that arm up my back painfully. I strike my ankle against his shin. He cusses and lets me go, and I whirl around as fast as I can. I sink hastily into a sittin' crouch. I growl softly at him.

And Logan laughs.

Oh, hell no! I scream and pitch myself from off the floor at his torso, hopin' to leave at least a second's worth of bruises. My hands burn briefly, and I punch Logan's chest fiercely.

My claws come out red.

My _claws_.

"Fuck, you did not just do that," Logan hisses at me.

"Fuck, I just did," I snarl, holding my arms out from by sides, the muscles taut and my fists clenched.

"Goddamn it, kid. I might make a fighter out of you yet." And then he laughs again!

"Damn you," I mutter, slidin' my claws in. The smallest second of pain, and then it's gone. I look down at my hands. Unmarred, perfect tan skin.

Looks like I'm better for bein' without claws for a while.

* * *

"You did not!" Caryssa gasps, sittin' up suddenly.

"I did, too," I reply proudly. "And my claws are back, see?" I slide them out for her.

"That's awesome, Kat!" She eyes my built-in weapons nervously. "I would hug you, but somehow I think I might get impaled in the process."

We laugh about it together, and I slide my claws back in.

"With what?" Ruthia queries, walkin' in and floppin' on her bed.

"Well, see, I asked Logan to teach me how to fight, and this mornin', when he told me to attack him, my claws came out. I almost beat his ass, too," I announce happily. "And my senses are back. For instance, do you really need to eat chocolate-covered strawberries before lunch? It's not really necessary."

"That's fantastic!" Ruthia squeals, leapin' over to hug me.

"You're gonna end up with holes in your gut," I warn her. "I don't like bein' hugged."

"Shut up, grouchy gills," Ruthia laughs. "Life is about living, not pouting!"

"I don't pout!" I protest, cheeks goin' pink as Caryssa lets out a howl of laughter.

"Sure you don't," Ruthia relishes. She shrugs and rolls her electric blue eyes.

"I don't!" I whine, and I throw a pillow at Ruthia. She giggles and throws it back, so I throw it at Caryssa, who picks up a different one and begins whackin' me lopside the head with it.

"Mercy, mercy!" I wail. Caryssa pauses. I grab the pillow and begin attackin' her. Ruthia joins in.

"Pillow fight!" I hear Ginnie and Kenya chorus as they open the door.

"You are all so immature," Iviey offers, rollin' her eyes. "Professor Munroe told me to tell ya'll that it's lunchtime."

"Food!" I squeal as I race out the door.

"You're like two year olds!" Iviey calls after us we thunder down the gorgeous staircase.


	13. Ugh, Cliché

**X-Men Sprouts: Cougar**

You know what I really hate? Clichés. They're so irritating. I mean, all they are is copying someone else! It really pisses me off; if someone works hard on somethin', they should get the credit and not be copied.

But whatever. I mean, cliché's happen, right? Sometimes you just gotta Laissez Faire.

French is a cool language.

* * *

I'm sleepin' in on a Saturday after my trainin' session with Logan a few weeks after my mutation returns, full swing and then some, when I'm shaken awake at prolly seven.

"_What_?" I growl, swiping at whoever woke me up. "Don't know to let sleepin' cats lie?"

"Yeah, whatever," Caryssa squeals. "You have to watch me!"

Grumblin', I sit up and rub the sleep and boogers out of my eyes. Caryssa excitedly grabs one of Iviey's ceramic Chinese lucky cats, the one that look like they're waving. She cups it in her hands delicately, and blows gently on it… and it waves softly at me.

"Holy _shit_," I whisper. I know my eyes are wide.

"It's back," she smiles, and tilts her head back so the tears slide back into her eyes without falling.

* * *

"Congratulations, Caryssa, my dear! How are you going to celebrate?" Hank asks. Caryssa grins.

"TP Logan's room, of course."

I smirk. "Can I help?"

"Duh. You, Iviey, Ruthia, and I- during dinner. He never misses a meal. Wear lots of perfume, so he can't smell to figure out who did it.

"Genius, my friend! Genius!"

"I know."

Hank just laughs and waves us off.

* * *

I'm walkin' outside after dinner. I didn't want to catch the brunt of Logan's anger, so I escaped to the garden.

It's a nice garden. I'm not really that into them, but even I know that it's pretty.

I pick a flower and pluck off all the petals, one by one. Then I laugh maniacally.

"That's kinda disturbing," a deep voice says quietly just as a lighter flicks on from the same direction.

"Who the hell are you?" I snap, droppin' the stem. I tense my legs.

"The name's Cade Wilson," he replies, the end of his cigarette glowin' a fiery topaz.

"That's doesn't tell me who you are," I growl. I relax slightly. Bad idea. As soon as I do that, he pitches himself at me, catchin' me so he astride over my lower torso. His hands hold my wrists above my head tightly. I feel his cigarette burnin' my wrist, slowly and painfully. I refuse to react to the agony.

"How about Deathstrike, heard of him?" he hisses, leanin' down at me. I don't gasp, but I want to. Deathstrike had been talked about in the hallways for months; he's so good, none of the X-Men can catch him. Logan thinks he works for the government… but then, he's a paranoid freak, so that can't really be put down as a theory.

"Oh," I mutter, tryin' to act nonchalant. "Ever heard of Cougar?"

"Who? No."

"That's funny. It's… me!" Durin' my pause, I head-butt him as fiercely as I can. He grabs his nose as it starts bleedin'. Hastily, I stand up and position myself in a fighting-demi-crouch, with my hands held stiff outside my sides. Quickly, I slide my claws out.

"Someone's been teaching you," he hisses, narrowin' his eyes in the dim light.

"No shit, Sherlock," I snarl. "Wanna try that again, bub?"

"Did you just call me _bub_?" he asks in an angry his. He jumps at me again, but this time, I'm prepared. I dodge to the side and slice his arm as he flies at the tree. He turns midair and pushes off the tree in my direction. I chop at his face, leavin' some scars for him to think about tomorrow.

I already know I'm not gonna win this. But I can do my best to injure him 'til then.

He lands in a crouch a few feet away from me, waitin' for my next move.

I can wait longer.

We stand there for about thirty seconds, when he gives a quiet snarl and punches me clean in the nose. Hot, stinky blood flushes from somewhere high in the feature and drizzles down messily onto the lower portion of my face. Not wastin' time, I realign it before it sets. At the snap, I cuss loudly. Deathstrike punches me again. Loser.

"Jackass," I hiss, and I begin circlin' him. Then, without warning, his leg swoops under me, makin' me topple to the grassy ground.

Idiot! I knew to look out for that!

He pins me again, in the same position as last time, except this time, only one strong hand holds my wrists, while the other pushes against my face. So I bring my knee up to his crotch. It clangs against metal, but Deathstrike makes a face. Ha. I do it again, until he releases my hands to push my leg down.

Mi-stake.

I punch him furiously across the cheekbone, satisfied at the crunch it makes, wishing the pressure he'd put against my wrists hadn't made my claws go back in. He swears and I punch him again.

But suddenly he reaches into his pocket, pulls out a mask, and presses a small button it. It makes a hissing noise. Before I can dodge it, he shoves it in my face.

First I fight, but I'm gettin' weaker by the second. I know what it is. It's knockout gas of some kind, and it makes my lips and nose feel like their swelling horribly.

After about thirty seconds, I push weakly at his hands, and then the swell of unconsciousness takes me under.

* * *

When I wake, the first thing that hits me is the smell. It smells like bleach and bad cologne; talk about a bad mixture. Then the sickeningly insanity-inducing drip-drip of water touches my ears. Finally, the cold seizes my body, and I shiver.

I look down at myself, only waitin' a second for my eyes to adjust. I'm still wearin' my red sweatshirt, tiny jean shorts, and my old Convers, but they're stained with sweat and blood. I touch a hand to my hair, and, of course, it's a mess.

I'm in a tiny cell, only about 5' by 5'. I have to crouch when I stand; the blood rushes from my head and I dance woozily for a moment.

"Damn it," I mutter under my breath.

Don't my captors have any originality?


	14. The First Cut

**X-Men Sprouts: Cougar**

I lie, tight with my legs tucked underneath me. The maddenin' drip of water is drivin' me insane, so I start to hum loudly to drown in out. A voice, hoarse and rich at the same time, makes me stop.

"Who's that?"

(Insert slightly irritated silence.)

"Your name would suffice," comes the snappish reply.

"Katze. Katze Silver. You?"

"Gemma Timothy," she answers. "I've been here about hour years."

"I just came in yesterday… or whatever."

"Two days, I think," Gemma corrects. "They brought something in then. It was probably you.

"Is there anyone else here, besides us?" I ask eagerly. Maybe, if there's enough people trapped here, we can plan an escape. I'm like a trapped beast; I don't like bein' caged. I want _out_.

"Yeah, but they're experimenting on her right now."

"Just one?" I query, my gut sinkin'.

"Yeah, but she's worth ten. She's- oh, here she comes."

Several men and women in white lab coats walk by up by my cell, draggin' somethin' that's puttin' up a real fuss. I see a flash of coppery hair, and I hear some loud, protestin' snarls and growls, as well as the snapping of teeth.

Suddenly, a see a woman dart out of the bundle of scientists, whoopin' and racin' as fast as she can towards the door (and that appears to be pretty damn fast). She's got auburn-red hair and dark eyes and the palest skin I've ever seen.

One of the doctors pulls out a gun and shoots her in the calf. She howls in rage and pain, and she tumbles to the gritty ground. The group nears her, and despite the warnin' growls and snarls she's releasin', they drag her into the cell across from mine. With a final howl, they slam the gate shut and lock it, only to leave with sneers on their stupid faces.

The woman heaves a sigh.

"God, I hate those goddamn tests."

It's weird to hear her speakin' after she did all that snarlin' and screamin', like a wild animal.

"We got a new girl, Gena," Gemma says conversationally. The woman grunts, pickin' at her bloody calf. "Meet Katze Silver. Katze, meet Magena Winter.

"Hey," I greet easily. She snorts at me. Then I hear a muffled screams, and Gena is stickin' her fingers in her bullet wound. "What the hell are ya doin'?!"

"I don't want to heal around the bullet," she snaps at me through gritted teeth. "There it goes." Grasped firmly between her thumb and forefinger is a shining red bullet.

"I heal, too."

"How fast?" she demands, puttin' pressure on the hole.

"Two or three seconds," I reply proudly.

"Ah, lucky," she sighs. "It takes me a half hour to an hour, depending on the injuring."

"I get it from my dad," I answer modestly.

"Who is he?" Gena and Gemma ask together.

"Wolverine. Well, Logan." No sooner than this leaves my lips, a man storms into the hall. He's shorter than me, with silver hair and glasses, and an overall air of command and control.

"What did you say?!" he drawls angrily at me.

"Um…" I hesitate. Who the hell is this?

His hand, lightning fast, darts between the bars of my cage and wraps firmly around my throat. Obviously, I begin to choke.

"I said… _what did you say_?!" he growls.

"… fuck… you," I manage to gasp, slidin' out my claws and cuttin' his arm. He releases me and snatches him arm back like someone burned him.

"I want to know what you said," he says calmly, rubbin' her sliced-up arm.

"So I gathered," I snap, slinkin' to the back of my cell.

"Tell me," he demands, "or I'll shoot little Miss Timothy over here."

"I said, 'Wolverine. Logan'! Happy?" I snarl.

"Tremendously," he replies with a smirk. "You see, I've had the joy of meeting your father. He used to work for me, in fact, before he went all noble. Your uncle, too."

"What are you gabbin' about?" I growl. "My dad's smarter than that! And I don't have an uncle!"

"My, my… You don't know," the man crows delightedly.

"Don't know what, jackass?" I snap. He smirks some more at me.

"Like father, like daughter, it seems. That's something he would have said."

"Am I supposed to care?" I drawl lazily.

"You will, Miss Silver. I promise; you will."

"Don't be so dramatic," I snap. "Who the hell are you, anyway?"

"Colonel Stryker," he smiles wickedly. "Release the gas."

The last thing I think before I black out, again, is, _How the hell did he know __Logan__?_

* * *

I wake up chained to a table. The table is made of icy steel, and so are the cuffs that chain me to it.

Then I notice I'm naked. Y'know, stark. So I do the only logical thing. I scream out all the curse words and bloody promises I can muster.

"My, my, a little bent up anger?" Stryker smirks. "Commence the tests. Makes sure Miss Silver doesn't pass out; I want her awake for this."

Two doctors wearin' green scrubs and face masks walk up to me, clutching shiny silver scalpels.

"This, Miss Silver," Stryker promises, "will hurt."

And it does.

First they just leave little shallow cuts on my arms and legs, and then they watch them heal over. Then they start to leave deep slices on my stomach and face, only to watch those regenerate, too.

Finally, despite my ear-shattering screams and swear words, they slit my throat.

Luckily, it heals before I bleed out, but I still feel woozy from blood loss.

The steel beneath my body is not a shiny gray anymore; pools and dots of blood are beginnin' to stain it. My skin is no longer merely touched with sweat and a little streak of blood, but swirled and blotched with crimson and brown, with very little left a freckled tan.

Despite bein' healed, I ache all over. I know that I am merely a pawn in their game. And I know that, if this game goes on, I will die. Permanently.

After the doctors finish murmurin' to each other, they take a hose and wet me down with a fierce, cold shower until most of the blood is gone from my bare body. Once they're done, I'm shiverin'.

Stryker tells them to unshackle me, and I'm so dizzy that I don't even fight. Leavin' me unclothed, they drag me to my cell. They just toss me in and walk away. Well, they lock it first, but you get my gist.

As I lie, quiverin' from pain and cold, Stryker stands outside my cell. He smirks down at my huddled form.

"Care yet?"


	15. Pain is Only Human

**X-Men Sprouts: Cougar**

I'm tryin' to sleep, but I'm freezin'. They haven't given me any clothes, leavin' me curious as when Gena got her gray-brown pillowcase-shirt and baggy shorts. Assumably, Gemma has her own, too. So why am I shiverin' my butt off?

"You okay?" I hear Gemma ask softly.

"No," I whisper. "I hurt all over… I'm so cold."

"They haven't given you the jailclothes yet?" Gena snorts. "Figures. Gemma here gets 'em as soon as she enters, but you and I, well, we have to earn ours."

"Earn them how?" I whimper. My sides ache from hunger.

"By proving we don't get sick," Gena replies bitterly.

"That's all they want?!" I cry angrily, sittin' up. "That's horrible!"

"That's what these losers are," Gena laughs mirthlessly. "They're government-funded scientists with nothing better to do than pick on defenseless females."

"Defenseless?" I giggle softly; it burns my throat to do so. "Hardly. I left their… kidnapper some scars to think about."

"I nearly choked mine," Gemma adds. She sighs dreamily. "I wrapped poison ivy around his throat. You should have seen it… I imagine him itching for days."

"How did you manage that?" I chortle.

"I can direct any kind of organic plant matter," Gemma explains. "It came to my notice during that fight."

"I've had my claws and healin' and super sharp senses for about two years," I reply.

I watch Gena shrug. "I just never aged… and, apparently, I'm very smart. 'Course, my senses went all haywire when I was 13, now that I think of it."

"How old are you?" I wonder aloud.

"I 187," she replies easily. My jaw drops. "I was born in February of 1823."

"Wow," I mutter. Gena laughs an oddly hollow laugh.

"My parents were of Irish blood, but they grew up in New England. When I was two, they went to preach to the Native Americans, taking me along with them. They died when I was four. The currentmost tribe of their attentions adopted me, raising me until I was 13, when some travelers found me and forced me to go back to New England. I was taught by a rich family there. Then they made me marry a gentleman at nineteen. He died at seventy-four, when I was sixty-three; the problem was, I still looked twenty. After he died, I ran away and became a factory worker. I stayed in that life for about 25 years, until my… friend, Alexander, died. That was in 1911. I laid low for a great deal of time. In 2000, I was kidnapped by Stryker and latest mu-toy. I've been here ever since. In 2006, Gemma came here; you were twelve at the time, correct?"

"Yup," Gemma replies.

"They've run through a few healing mutants and others, but Gemma and I are the only ones remaining, until you showed up. What year is it now?"

"Mid-April of 2010."

"I've been here ten years, then," Gena says gloomily. "Likely, I'll be here for ten more."

* * *

**_Meanwhile, back at Xavier's…_**

"Goddamn it, where is my daughter, Stormn?!" Logan growls.

"Logan, I don't know," Storm replies miserably. "Maybe she ran away."

"No way," Caryssa interjects immediately. "She was happy here; she had friends here."

"Could she have been kidnapped?" Iviey says, her eyebrows creasing.

Logan's claws slide out silently.

"Whoh would beh stupid ehnough tah do thaht?" Rouge worries. Logan's eyes gleam.

"Someone with power. Someone obsessed with mutants. Someone like Stryker."

"But Stryker's dead!" Kenya cries. "Isn't he?"

"He said someone _like _Stryker, no Stryker himself, right, Logan?" Storm answers.

"We never got proof he died," Logan says quietly, beginning to pace. "It could be him."

Kenya trembles.

"Professor Logan, stop scaring her!" Ginnie cries, wrapping an arm around her blonde best friend.

"This smells of Stryker," Logan growls.

"_Logan_!"

"Damn it, Storm, I want my daughter back!"

"And I want my friend back," Caryssa replies quietly but firmly. "But standing here yelling won't get Kat found! I'm going to find my friend, and I'd really like your help!"

"Oh no, you're not going," Storm snaps. "All my students will stay _right here_. Hank and Mary will watch you all; Logan, Kitty, Bobby, and myself will go search for her. _Do not follow, _Caryssa Jameson."

"Yes, ma'am," Caryssa answered quietly. She, of course, was lying through her teeth. Caryssa could care less about her punishment; she was a loyal as the sun. And this was her _friend_.

Once Storm shooed Caryssa, Kenya, Ginnie, Iviey, and Ruthia out of her office, she turned to her X-Men.

"The life of a daughter and friend is at stake. We must find her. Soon."

Logan nods firmly, glaring at them all. Bobby sets his mouth in a firm lone, determination in his gaze. Kitty bows her head gently, prepping herself.

And, 15 minutes later, the jet lifts from the ground.

* * *

**_Three Days Later, With the Captives_**

Gemma keeps track of the days; I'm not really sure how. She say's it's been three days, and I dunno why, but I trust her. She's so… trustable.

Wow, I sound like an idiot. Oh, well.

In these past three days, Gena has been tested on once, but they've left me alone. For this, I'm grateful.

"Have they tested on you?" I ask Gemma. She coughs softly.

"Yes, but not in the same ways. They've done tests to see how far away I can be from plants and still control them, how weak I can be and still direct the pants, and so on. They've also tried controlling me using special drops on my neck, but since they're made of plant extracts, it won't work unless I want it to. Which I don't."

"Yeah, they tried those on me, too," Gena adds. "Apparently, I went berserk and killed two scientists. My brain is my safe place, and all their technology can't crack it."

"I wonder when they'll try them on me," I think aloud.

"They probably won't," Gena says in a satisfied tone. "I made it too much of a liability."

"Good. I like controllin' myself."

"Well, you're here, so there goes that. Oh, here comes the docs. Bye, Katze. See you later."

Noxious gas pervades my senses and I fall to the ground before darkness swirls behind my eyelids.


	16. Of Firsts

**X-Men Sprouts: Cougar**

I lie there on the table, waitin'. There's no one here; no doctors, no Stryker.

The steel is just as freezin' as last time. The shackles burn ice against my ankles and wrists the same. I'm still as naked as the day I was born. The only difference is the loneliness animating from the walls.

So I wait, my butt turnin' to ice against the cold metal. There's nothin' else I can do.

It must have been an hour I lay there, exposed and frigid, waitin' and waitin'. I try to draw my legs and arms as close to my body and each other as possible, but the chains on my cuffs prevent much movement.

I'm so cold.

I'm so alone.

I'm so afraid.

Slowly, frigidly, I fall into a dreamless slumber.

* * *

I awake to the hearty slammin' of a metal door. Startled, I open my eyes to see ten doctors in blue scrubs file into the room, sadism gleamin' in their various eyes.

"Oh," I say, twistin' slightly away and pullin' a little on the metal links. "Wasn't the other day fun? I take it you're here for a repeat."

"Of course," says the high, skittery voice of a male doctor with pale milk skin and bushy orange eyebrows.

"And this time," trills a woman with tanned ivory skin and gently lilted jet eyes, raisin' her artfully thin, arched black eyebrows dramatically, "we're going to record it!" She pulls out a camcorder from her behind her back.

There is no preamble of little cuts this time; the first thing they do is slice open my gut. I see my innards for a split second before blood flushes out like a broken dam, and then fresh white skin cells begin to stretch across the wound. The new doctors murmur among themselves while the two from before, the redheaded man and the tanned Asian woman, merely look proud, as though they're the one causin' my regeneration.

In this room, crowded with cruel scientists, I have never been more alone than at this moment.

As soon as it heals, they slice open my stomach again. It heals just as fast and cleanly. Three more times they open my gut, and it keeps healing just the same. Then they move on to peeling the soles from my feet. All the while, of course, I'm screamin' and yellin' at those stupid docs. It's so _painful_. Well, obviously.

Of course the finale is, again, slittin' my throat. I've already lost so much blood, with no time to replenish it- I have no real chance. Fuzziness engulfs my head as my lifeblood leaves my body in a rush through the cut on my neck.

I am dead within a minute.

* * *

**_At the Mansion_**

"Kenya, Ginnie, Ruthia, Iviey," Caryssa hisses, shaking each in turn. Silently, the four slide out of bed and reach under their beds, pulling out knapsacks.

"Ready?" Iviey whispers, tugging the straps over her shoulders. Every girl nods.

"Good. Let's go," Caryssa mutters. Without another word, all five girls leave the room and then the mansion.

All were desperate to find their friend.

* * *

**_With the X-Men_**

"Well, Logan, I don't think there's anything down there except the fish," Storm says, clearly exhausted.

"Damn it!" he growls. "Where else would they take her?! I was sure she'd be at Alkali Lake!"

"Professor Munroe, let me check!"

"No, Kitty," Storm replies firmly. "I will not risk your life."

"What's about Kat's?" Bobby cries. "Are we going to risk hers more?"

Logan's angry muttering turns to a roar as he angrily punches a huge boulder by the lakeside. A large sheet of rock tumbles off the boulder as a result.

"Logan!" Storm says sharply. "Control your temper!"

"Don't tell me what to do!" he screams at her. Storm slaps his solidly against the cheek.

"I'm your leader. I will tell you what to do and you will obey," she tells him quietly. Logan's nostrils flare, but he nods shortly.

Bobby and Kitty share a stunned glance.

"Well…" Kitty titters, smothering a small giggle. "Let's move on. Where else would Stryker work?"

"I don't _know_!" Storm cries, burying her face in her tan palms.

"He's here," Logan says, lifting his face. "I can smell him here."

"But where is he?" Bobby asks eagerly. Logan sniffs.

"I don't know. But I sure as hell will."

* * *

**_With the Girls_**

"I… am… freezing," Kenya huffs. "Why… are… we… in… Canada?"

"Because that's where Stryker works, kay?" Caryssa responds testily.

"Hey, everyone… Let's calm down," Ruthia says. "Let's not bicker. Let's remember our goal, yeah, chicas?"

"Yeah," Iviey snorts. "I'm sure we'll be very worried about Katze once our butts are frozen off."

"Not helping, Ive," Caryssa warns.

"Not supposed to, Ryss," she replies in a sing-song voice.

"Let's all just shut it and walk," Ginnie sighs. "We'll get there faster."

"Yeah, _Kenya_," Caryssa mutters.

"Hey!"

"Shush!" Ruthia shrieks.

"Temperamental," Iviey murmurs.

"Zip!

* * *

**_Some Hours Later_**

"Well, there's people there alright, but I don't know what Stryker looks like and I didn't see Katze-" Ruthia breathes, letting her invisibility leech off of her like melting snow.

"Thanks, Ruthia," Caryssa interrupts warmly, despite her worry and Ruthia's mutinous glare.

"I'm not finished. I found…" Ruthia sighs. "other people. They're captive, Caryssa, and one of them's our age."

"Did you talk to them?" Kenya queries, her eyes wide with horror.

"No, but they talked to each other. Two girls. I think the teen's name is Gemma, and the other one, an adult, is Gena. They talked about… Katze." A triumphant grin besieged everyone's face. "We found Katze."

"We found her," Ginnie whispers joyously.

"We found her," Iviey agrees simply.

* * *

**_In the Steel Room_**

I wake up.


	17. This Is A Rescue?

**X-Men Sprouts: Cougar**

Okay, so I'm alone. So I'm wet and cold. So the only clothes I'm wearing are nasty brown-gray pillowcases made into a shirt and shorts. So I'm chained to a steel table still. I'm alive! I'm wearing _somethin'_! I'm alive! I'm not bloody! _And I'm alive_!

Unless this is heaven.

Hmm.

Nah. Heaven would stink less. For that matter, in Heaven, _I _wouldn't stink so much.

* * *

Once I've finished countin' the ceilin' tiles for the seventh time, I decide the docs have forgotten about me. Either that or they've decided to torture me with boredom.

Four hours later (at least, I think it was four hours), they return.

With a big freakin' hammer. Like, mallet on steroids big. It's kinda scary. I already know they're gonna do with it.

My head is prolly the target.

And I'm right.

First they just tap lightly, as if to see how much I'll scream. But I'm tired of screamin', so I clamp my lips. I want to stop screamin'; it seems to be what they want, so I'm not gonna give it.

But they persist, slowly addin' strength behind the blows. After so long, I feel… my… skull… crack… A warm trickle of blood that started at my crown turns to a river flow… I'm so tired… I just want to sleep… Hot blood is racin' from my head…

I close my eyes.

Sleep… It's all I want…

* * *

**_With the X-Men_**

"Who'd've thought they'd use a _tunnel_ to lead underground?" Logan mutters as he races after Storm in the steel-plated archway. It reads 'Aevum Quod Nunquam Intereo'. No one spares a glance at it, except Logan, who somehow knows it means, 'Age And Never Die'.

"Uh, anyone," Kitty laughs, giddy.

"Shh," Bobby hisses. "Professor Munroe, where do we go?"

"We split up, Bobby," she replies softly. "Logan, that way; Bobby, that way; Kitty, through there. Use your earpiece to talk to the others if you find anything. _Go!_"

They all turn and race away, Storm, Logan and Bobby down hallways and Kitty through a wall.

Logan follows the smell of unclean people, the sweat and tinge of blood sweet to the animal in him. There was something else… appealing… about one of the strains of scents. Like pine trees and mint, almost a soapy smell. It smelled so _clean_, like a home, but for the sweat and dirt covering it up.

And then… he smelled _him. _He smelled his scent, mixed with hers! Katze!

With absolute and utter abandon, he races to the origin of the smells.

It leads him to rows of cages. _So familiar…_

And in two cages, oblique to each other, are two women. Well, a girl and a woman. The girl has deep sequoia-coffee bean skin and wild, triangular deep ebony hair in wild crimps. She's curled up in the corner of her cage, clearly asleep.

The woman, on the other hand is splayed wildly, as best she could be in the tiny cage, her penny-orange hair, straight but straggly from dirt, lifts as she snores softly. But to Logan, she looks like a caged animal, convinced it's never getting out. It would break a lesser man's heart.

Instead, Logan breaks the lock. At the snap, the woman snaps her body up, tense. Her amazing dark brown eyes dart and zero in on Logan.

"Who the hell are you?" she snarls. Maybe she's not so tame.

"Your knight in shining armor. Come on, sweetcheeks, I got other people to save."

* * *

Her body lays there, a weak, bloody comma against the pools of crimson and plate of shining metal. Her eyes are open and lightless, blank golden and black canvas staring at nothingness. Her skin was still tan, but behind it, the stark white glared in the lights.

Dead. It was obvious… Logan had seen death before. At his own hand, often. But Katze…? His daughter.

Weak with grief and emotions he couldn't identify, Logan sliced her chains away and cradled her limp form, ignoring the bodies of the doctors around him.

* * *

"So… we're being _rescued_?" Gemma asks blankly. "I… Why now?"

"We would have saved you earlier, if we could have," Storm tries to explain, but Gena breaks in, eyes flashing.

"I've been here ten years, Gemma four! What do you mean, _if you could have_?"

"If we'd known!" Kitty says desperately. "We didn't, I'm so sorry!"

"Well, make up those ten years by giving me a hot bath, chocolate, and a real man to keep me happy, then I might forgive you!"

"Gena, please," Gemma begs. "They didn't know!"

"So?"

"So they couldn't save us!"

"SO?!"

"You're impossible, Magena Gaelinn Winter!"

"Yeah, yeah. Don't think I haven't heard it before."

"Storm…" Logan voice crackles through the earpieces. "I found her."

"That's wonderful, Logan!"

"Storm… Kitty… Bobby… She's dead."

* * *

"Katze Argentina…" Logan snorts softly. "That woman _would _name you that. Did you ever know that 'katze' is German for 'cat'? Probably. And you would know that Argentina is a country. And a song."

Logan sighs deeply. Talking to a dead body.

Was he ever sane?

Not that he could remember.

"Oh, Katze, I'm sorry. I should have been there… I should have protected you when you were here. Scratch that; I should have protected you your whole life. I'm a deadbeat dad, eh? But you shouldn't have died. I never even told… as a person, you suck, but y'know, the whole time we were around each other, I should have told you that I _like _you. I may even love you." Again, Logan sighs.

"Well, not that this isn't touchin', but can you stop? It's real uncomfortable."

The body shifts in his arms.

"What the hell?!"


	18. Closure

**X-Men Sprouts: Cougar**

We must make a funny picture; Gena stridin' out of the tunnel like she owns the world, with Gemma a few feet behind her, lookin' utterly bewildered and blinkin' in the sunlight, and then me limpin' out, supported on either side by Kitty and Bobby while Storm pulls the jet around to us. We can see Logan in the front, clingin' to his seat like he expects to fly out the front window.

"Katze? Katze!" I hear as five forms crawl over the bluff in front of us. "KATZE!"

"Caryssa!" I holler, tryin' to go to them, but Bobby and Kitty hold me where I am. "Iviey! Ruthia! Kenya! Ginnie!"

Storm lands the jet and stomps out of it in a fury. "Caryssa Jameson! You disobeyed me and put other students in danger!"

"I wanted to save my friend!" she replies defiantly.

"Get in the jet!" Storm orders, but we all already saw her face soften for a moment. "Prepare yourself for punishment, missy!"

"Yes, ma'am. So long as Kat's safe."

We all pile into the jet like injured puppies.

* * *

Three days back at the mansion, fully healed and happy with Hank teachin' me how to play chess. Three days of good food and cheerful friendship.

Three days until the reporters get wind of what happened.

Four days until they show up.

Seven days until Storm clears two of them to talk to me.

They look plastic, with puffy bright hair and excessive make-up. I must look grubby next to them, in my black canvas shorts and red vest. However, for comfort I'm wearing my favorite black-and-gray-and-white striped shirt.

The camera man looks normal, though. He's chewin' spearmint gum. He winks at me. I flip him off. He turns on the camera and smirks at me.

"Three… Two…" he mouths 'one' and gives a thumbs' up to the two newspeople.

"We're here with a mutant at a private school that prefers to remain nameless. This mutant teen, 16, was kidnapped two weeks ago and cruelly experimented on. Two other mutants were found with her, trapped like animals in cages. They were rescued by the infamous X-Men. There are rumors that one of them is even related to this girl. What's your name?" The woman asks, turnin' her blindin' smile at me.

"Katze. Katze Silver…"


	19. How to Be A Wildcat

_**This is really an author's note, but I'm chosing not to label the chapter so because that's just how I roll. Anywho...**_

_**I started the sequel to **_**X-Men Sprouts: Cougar_ yesterday for me writing this, probably eons ago for most people reading this. The sequel takes place two years after this story ends, when a mysterious man named Victor shows up at the mansion, claiming to be Logan's brother, and, thus, Kat's uncle. At the same time, Storm finds out that there's a mutant school in England, jokingly called Hogwarts. Storm invites the school to visit Xavier's, since it's just a small school, only about one hundred students. Meanwhile, Logan is struggling with his feelings for Gena and his irrational anger at Victor. Kat has to deal with a new uncle, a new school, and Ashton hitting on her again. All this is taken from Kat's view._**

_**The sequel is **_**How to Be A Wildcat_. Check it out, if you would. And leave reviews! They help me write faster and better, plus they give me a big happy-jolt._**

**_Love Always,_**

**_chrissyissy  
_**


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